Deep Roots Reached Not By Frost
by SlytherinDemigod18
Summary: It's Christmas 1914 and neither side of the war wishes to fight.


**I borrowed the line from the poem/thing in LotR by J. R. R. Tolkien called "all that is gold does not glitter" and modified it a bit. This is a special Holiday one-shot I made. Merry Christmas to you all!**

England rubbed at his bleary eyes tiredly, only succeeding in wiping on his face more mud than he was trying to get off. That day, the air in the trenches seemed even more subdued than usual. His men sat slumped against the cold, muddy trench walls, many holding torn photographs that they tried to protect from the French rain and the shrapnel that flew through the dusty air with every sound of an explosion. Like his soldiers, England too felt like the grey sky reflected his mood. None of them would be going home for Christmas and it would be the first many had spent away from their families. England himself, though not having a proper family - not in the sense of the other men - was surprised to find that with every day that drew them closer to Christmas, he longed more to spend time with his brothers, all of whom he hated. Even America or France, though he normally couldn't stand to be in the same room with either of them, would have been welcome company to break the heavy silence that had settled over the ditches when no more shells were fired.

Okay, England amended, maybe France would be pushing it a bit. Even still, he couldn't help but think of the blue-eyed country lying alone in bed, having to feel each shell and bomb as they exploded across his land. He shook his head quickly. Worrying for the Frog would not do in these conditions. He had to be alert in case of another attack.

But silence greeted his ears, broken only by the muffled sniffles of one of the younger boys in the trench. No explosions or gunfire graced the sky between the enemies. The German side of the field was utterly silent, save for quiet whispering that England couldn't make out.

The green-eyed country glanced around the small ditch to see confused yet relieved looks on many of the faces there and several red-rimmed eyes that he chose not to comment on. It was only natural that the soldiers, especially the younger ones, would be missing their families on this night. Especially since when they joined up, they were told they'd be _home_ for Christmas, not that the war would continue on without any sign of stopping. Taking advantage of the momentary silence, England took off his cap to run a hand through his mud and blood-flecked hair. His ears rang with the absence of the usual explosions and he took a quick sip of water from his canteen to soothe his parched throat and help ease his growing headache.

He slumped back against a sandbag and had just begun to relax slightly when a most peculiar sound came floating across No Man's Land. It took him a moment to realize that it was a wavering melody in a foreign language. Another moment after that and he realized that German boy was _singing_ , and not just any song, but one he could decipher as Silent Night. England could appreciate the irony in the title.

Whispers grew around the trench as more German men joined in with the singing until a chorus of deep voices reached a crescendo and every British man fell silent to listen. When the enemy finished singing, there was silence for a moment before a young boy in England's trench, one of the ones who was barely eighteen and missing home, struck up in his warbling voice God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. The other men tried to hush him, but to their dismay, the boy just sang louder, some of his friends joining in until the trench just gave up and sang with him. As the last note quivered in the air, everyone fell silent, waiting to see what would happen.

"Someone's coming!" One of the men yelled down to the trench from where he stood, looking over the side, "Bloody hell! I think it's a Fritz!"

The men in the trench gripped their guns tight, but the boy who'd started the singing on their side rose to his feet and began climbing up the ladder to the top of the trench - without a weapon.

"What are you doing Tom," hissed one of his friends, "You're going to get yourself killed!"

The boy, Tom, stilled on the ladder momentarily before glancing back at his friend, "I'm goin' ta wish 'em a Happy Christmas."

England pinched the bridge of his nose as Tom kept climbing to meet the shadowy figure stopped just outside their lines of barbed wire. There were a few murmurs from above, but no gunfire or explosions greeted his ears. Suddenly, the sentry made a strangled noise in his throat, "Dear god, there's more of them coming!"

His men glanced at each other before surging out of the trenches, guns at the ready, fully intent on protecting their comrade, but what greeted them made a few drop their guns in surprise. Tom and several German men were laughing and talking with each other in broken versions of the other's language. England watched his soldiers glanced quizzically at one another before one brave soul dropped his gun and joined Tom in the frozen mud. That started a chain reaction and soon the sound of metal clanking against the hard dirt was the only sound in the night. Even Tom and the Germans were quiet, watching and waiting to see what the rest of the British would do. When all of England's men stood there silently without making any hostile moves, one of the Germans smiled and held out a hand sheepishly. "Wir wollen nicht an Weihnachten kämpfen. Willst du einen Waffenstillstand zulassen?"

England knew enough German to understand that the man was saying they didn't want to fight on Christmas and was asking for a truce. Hesitantly, he shook the enemy's hand and allowed himself a small smile. The guns had quieted and snow started to fall lightly on the frozen ground. It seemed that they would be having a Christmas this year after all.

oO0Oo

The British Empire watched from the sidelines as enemies became friends in the darkness. The night was illuminated only by the few trees the Germans had lit with candles, enticing homesickness to curl inside England's chest. He could remember setting candles alight on an evergreen tree of his own back in the manor long ago when his colonies were still children. Now, most of them had grown up and gone home and the ones who still lived with him tended not to celebrate the holiday to the same extent his other colonies did. England leaned against a demolished tree, a pipe between his lips, watching the smoke curl in puffs in the cold air. A few whoops broke the night and his attention was drawn to one side where figures cloaked in shadows ran through the darkness, a ball being kicked between them. A small smile spread across his face as he took another drag of the pipe. Figures that the language barrier would be broken by a game of football.

"Hallo England."

England coughed on his smoke and spun around, questions on his lips, but relaxed slightly when he noticed who it was. "Oh, good evening Germany."

The Aryan nation stood next to him in awkward silence as they observed their troops as they socialized together in the frosty air. Finally, Germany cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels, "So, um, danke for allowing zhe truce."

He seemed so hesitant and so much like a child wearing a uniform that wasn't his own that England was suddenly reminded that Germany was _younger_ than America. Then he shook his head. It wouldn't do to feel sympathy for the enemy. "I only did it because my men were wanting a Christmas of their own."

Germany shrugged, "Vhatever zhe reason, ve are grateful."

England hummed in acknowledgment and leaned back into the tree, bringing the pipe to his lips once more. When he blew the smoke out, he gestured with his free hand to where the two sides of the war were gathered, now singing carols together around a candle-lit tree, "How did this happen? One minute we're gassing each other and the next we're sharing photos of home with the enemy."

The blue-eyed nation was quiet for a moment before speaking, "I guess ve never really vanted zhis var to come to zhis."

The two sat in silence against the tree for a long while before the first rays of sunlight began peaking their way over the horizon, signally the dawn of a new day. England pushed his way to his feet, brushing the snow and crumbs of the biscuits they'd shared off his uniform, and fixed his cap on his head again. He looked into the distance, listening to the frequency only a nation could hear; a frequency that allowed him to hear the thoughts of his men. A frown creased his brow and he clenched his jaw and began striding towards the men sitting around the Christmas tree, playing cards and sharing pictures.

Germany caught up with him just as England reached his men and was telling them to go back to the trenches. Germany grabbed England's elbow, "Vhat are jou doing?"

England sighed and faced the other country, "My superiors aren't happy about the truce. They're ordering my men back to their lines and giving the command to begin shooting any Germans on sight."

The blue-eyed country watched as men from both sides reluctantly began trudging through the frozen mud back to their trenches, some of the boys glancing behind them at the backs of the friends they'd just made. Friends they would have to start shooting at again.

The two nations faced each other before Germany silently held out a hand for England to shake, "Frohe Weihnachten, England."

For a moment, England just stared at the large hand being offered to him. Germany reddened when England didn't return the gesture and was just about to retract his hand and turn away when England grasped it in his own. "Happy Christmas, Germany."

And in the silent night, two countries walked away from each other, back to the trenches and back to war.


End file.
